


Time in the Seam

by affectivefallacy



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, Childhood Memories, Drabble, Drabble Collection, F/M, Fluff, Humor, Post-Canon, Pre-Series, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-26
Updated: 2016-03-26
Packaged: 2018-04-11 08:31:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4428476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/affectivefallacy/pseuds/affectivefallacy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some things stay the same. Some things define them.</p><p>A collection of scraps of writing and drabbles about Amy/Rory</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Dug up from three years ago, early days of Ponds feels, dusted off, posted here. Amy and Rory as kids.
> 
> I will hopefully be recovering more little Amy/Rory writings from several years ago soon. These two crazy in love kids were who I used to test out my writing abilities again when I first started up after a three year long hiatus in 2011. So this will likely be where I post any of those scraps and drabbles that aren't able to be turned into anything longer.
> 
> Artwork is mine!

                                                                                                                      

* * *

 

"Shut up!" she yelled, almost screeching, as she stalked away, fists clenched by her sides, brow furrowed in anger, tears stinging at her eyes, stubbornly not turning around.   
  
"Amy!" he yelled, his voice angry, all desperation that may have been there before when he'd called gone and replaced with cold, hard frustration.   
  
"I hate you!" She continued on, just looking to the bend in the road, just to get past that and out of his sight. There was silence at that, and she nearly stopped, but if only for a slight stumble in her rhythmic stomping away (one she hoped was unnoticed) she kept going.   
  
"I hate you too, then!"  
  
She stopped then, at those words, distant and echoing. But she was out of sight now and it didn't matter. She walked over to the tall, sturdy oak tree by the pavement and slumped down with her back to it.  
  
Five minutes later he came around the bend as well. She knew he was behind her, still on the walk, not looking directly but seeing her out of the corner of his eye. She was crying, covering her face, and silent.  
  
He came over to her, the crunch of fallen leaves and scuffing of dirt beneath his feet, as he stepped over a root and threw his backpack down, sitting idly next to her. He watched her - waited for her to uncover her eyes - his expression, no other discernible emotion but that tiring, easy look of patience.   
  
After a few minutes she uncovered her face. She lay her hands in her lap and didn't look at him for a long while, the tears all dried on her face and salt under her nails. He still watched. She favored a glance at him, a look that would have nearly broken his heart just for itself, if it wasn't already broken because it was so familiar. She was shy and scared and only looking to see if he was really still there. Then she looked back down.   
  
"I'll wait," he said.   
  
She nodded, knowing, and let another tear slip through her lashes.   
  
They'd wait, no matter what might have come between them before, with her locked away inside herself and him standing guard, keeping vigil, until she was ready to open back up.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another old one, dug up from years back. I guess there could be more to it, but it's okay as it is!  
> post-TATM fluff

“Amy?” Rory called walking in from the garden. Last he’d left her she was in the kitchen putting on a kettle and he’d just stepped out to get the mail. He surveyed the small ground floor apartment living room, his back to the hall, and bit the inside of his cheek. He was getting ready to call out again when he felt two small hands and slender fingers cover his eyes from behind.

“Guess who?”

"Elizabeth Taylor?” he asked, purposely making his voice sound hopeful.

The hands moved away from his eyelids and whacked him in the back. “Your wife, numpty.”

“Audrey Hepburn?” He grinned.

“You’re getting more and more cheeky in your old age and I’m not sure I like it.”

He smiled and turned around to face Amy. “I just haven’t run into a single celebrity yet and I’m in the golden age of film, _New York City_ … it’s very disappointing.” He pouted.

“You’re not cute,” she warned, fighting a smile.

“So, what’s with the sneak attack and everything?” he asked, placing a gentle peck on her lips and hands on her waist. She smiled into his kiss.

“Today’s a somewhat significant day,” she teased pulling away. At his blank look she sighed. “Today’s your birthday, stupid. Please don’t tell me you’re so daft you forgot your own birthday?”

“Well, seeing as I haven’t even been born yet, I might have let it slip my mind.”

Amy pointed a threatening finger at him. “You better not be planning that as an excuse to forget my birthday. And anyway, of course, it still counts,” she huffed, “Happy Birthday, stupid face.”  
  
"Thanks." He smiled and leaned in for another kiss. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so this one is much longer than a "drabble" or "scrap" and to be honest the only reason I didn't make it into its own fic is because I didn't want to think of a title! if I think of one I might still do that ... 
> 
> written before "Asylum of the Daleks" aired but after spoilers leaked that Amy and Rory were getting a divorce. not true to canon but rather speculation on my part as to why they might get divorced.

She would sit outside and watch the sky. At night, the stars. At day, the clouds. Either watching for the Doctor or their daughter, it didn’t matter. At first Rory would come sit outside with her. He’d look to the stars or the slow moving clouds, and he’d miss the days they’d recently left behind. He’d miss discovering new places and meeting new people and seeing his daughter. He’d miss the Doctor. He’d miss his wife’s smile.

He’d talk. He’d tell her about his day or try to talk about what they needed around the house or what to do for dinner. Those subjects were boring.  Amy would continue to watch the sky.

It wasn’t all the time. She’d be inside, she’d eat and laugh with him and ask about his day. They’d go shopping and decorate the house, making it more home. But it was often enough that he came home and she was out there in the garden, somewhere else for the evening.

He started coming home from work too tired to go sit and try to talk and live old, sometimes painful, memories. He would come in too tired and go upstairs without saying hello.

* * *

There were days when Amy would be struck with memories of losing him. They would dig into her in strange ways. She would yell out his name when he crossed a street too close to a car. Her heart would skip a beat when he was out and the phone would ring. She would wake up alone in the middle of the night and have to watch him sleeping. To put her hand over his face and feel his breath. She’d want to call if he was at the hospital, but would stop herself.

She couldn’t bear the memories of the times she’d been left thinking he was gone forever, however briefly, and seeing him alive and next to her only made her heart twist more inside her chest. The thoughts would get away from her and lead to the inevitable day she really would lose him.

She hated these days and how they would seemingly come out of nowhere. She’d hear about a family friend losing someone, or see a report on the news, but other times the moments came out of thin air.

She’d feel like clinging to him but would refuse to let herself. So she’d grow more distant instead. He’d try to sooth her, not sure what was wrong, and she’d flinch away from his touch. He was but a ghost in her life at those times.

* * *

They’d trade off every other Sunday with their parents for lunch. One week his dad and step-mum. One week her mum and dad. Meals at his parents were a little tense. Amy never liked his step-mum.

Rory got on well with Mr. and Mrs. Pond, so lunches there were much nicer. Rory and her dad would talk football. Amy’s mum would talk with her in the kitchen or out in the garden.

It was lying to all of them that was hard. They had talked about telling them …  _something_ , but everything seemed too hard, too impossibly mad, too painful and personal. They were sure something would come out eventually, but nothing ever did. Sundays they were happy, newlywed, nothing lost, nothing strange, nothing out of order.

Their singular lives were still like time - fragmented, fixed, in multiple streams, influx, rewritten. 

* * *

Sometimes she would catch him looking at her, and not the way he shyly would when they were younger, or the way he would (and she would in turn) when they were still just married. The look on his face always concerned her, until it scared her and then it angered her. It was a look like he was mourning her.

After a night of talking and yelling she put together that he was remembering another Amy, one he’d lost back at Two Streams. She hated it. She was here. That Amy wasn’t her. That Amy never technically existed. That Amy was bitter and alone and not how she would turn out.

She knew she shouldn’t feel that way, but she was jealous, angry - angry that he’d loved another Amy and lost her and angry that it hurt him when he _had_ her.

* * *

Rory was afraid. He was afraid to look at his wife and remember that day, that pain, and the wife he’d had to let die. He was afraid to grow old with his wife and see that wife every day.

Sometimes he wanted to run away from time passing, and it made him laugh bitterly for days when he could, when he _would._  

The days that had ruined time for him forever. 

* * *

While their parents were conspiring to have grandchildren Rory was coming home to find Amy sitting in the rocking chair that rested in the (usually locked) spare room that had come with the house, just the right size to be a nursery. Her eyes would be somewhere far away.

When Rory tried to talk to her about having another child, she walked away and slammed their bedroom door, not letting him in. Later she would talk to him about it, but bitter words would come out by mistake, about how he hadn’t been there, about how they hadn’t been able to protect their child, about how she was a horrible mother, about how they’d just given up, about how they’d been irresponsible and unprepared.

Suddenly she became afraid to sleep with him, paranoid of getting pregnant and most afraid of not being able to know it, even for the initial three weeks. It had happened before, hadn't it?  

Amy came home one day to find a hole punched in the yellow wall of that room. She never mentioned it and neither did he.

* * *

The nights held no respite for them. They were a time for nightmares – for memories that were forgotten in the day to come out and torment in the darkness. Amy had nightmares sometimes. She would dream about different things, but the worse by far would have her pointing a gun at her own daughter, like she was haunted with having done in waking - twice.

It was always the first time, the little girl in the astronaut suit. She wouldn’t miss; the little girl that was still Melody, still looked like their baby. She wouldn’t miss. She would try desperately to shout out in her dream and she would wake up with the scream still stuck in her throat. 

Yet it was Rory’s dreams that slowly sunk its claws into their reality. The muttered Latin, the tossing and thrashing, the cold sweats.  Waking up and not knowing where he was, not recognizing his wife right away. Amy tried to comfort him, tried to wake him, tried to understand and wasn’t able to. He never wanted to talk about it afterwards – he could barely remember.

Most times he would sleep right through the nightmares that would wake up Amy and leave her alone in the dark. They came more frequently; sometimes it would be several nights in a row of the same.

One morning at breakfast he noticed a bruise on her arm that she couldn’t tell him where it came from. When he finally found out, he moved a pillow and blanket out to the couch, and arranged to take more night shifts at work. 

* * *

Amy’s job kept her busy. It kept her from sitting around the house, watching the sky. He would come in from work as she was getting ready to leave. He would kiss her hello and goodbye all in one and she’d head out as he went to bed.

She’d come home with dinner, or to dinner, and he’d be watching TV or reading, or cleaning up the kitchen. They’d kiss hello. They’d sit and eat. Rory would leave for work and Amy would go to bed.

* * *

Amy came home another afternoon to an empty house. Rory had already left for work. The late afternoon sun painted the living room and kitchen in orange light and shadows. She put her keys down on the end table and sat on the couch. 

There were dishes still in the sink, magazines spread on the coffee table. His second pair of shoes lay near the couch, where he kept them. She kept her shoes by the door. A blanket that smelled like his aftershave was folded on the arm of the couch and she pulled it into her lap.

She cried.

* * *

Rory came home in the middle of the night, having gotten off work unexpectedly. He put his keys in the drawer. He walked around quietly into the kitchen and found leftovers in the fridge. He thought about turning on the telly, but really had no interest in watching anything. He could just change in the laundry, and fall asleep on the couch. He had no reason to go upstairs.

He found Amy lying in bed, sound asleep. He wanted to go in and kiss her forehead, but didn’t want to disturb her rest. He closed the door back and went back downstairs, to stare blankly at the muted, glowing television.

* * *

She remembered their last argument, after months of silence and routine, not having fought about half-lives or lost children or how to load the dishwasher in months. It was hardly a fight, but a few of the worst, most bitter words they’d each ever spoken to the other. About how they couldn’t stand to look at each other and they didn’t want to. They were tired and it hurt to be together.

He wasn’t sure how, or when, it had happened. The whole thing was a haze in his memory. He couldn’t even remember who had said it, or if anyone really had. All he knew was he was now on a bus, holding divorce papers in his hands, and it was probably for the better. Time had seen their love go to waste.  


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the first Amy/Rory fic I ever wrote! ~ I really like writing about Amy having a crush on Rory when they were younger, to flip the usual script, as may become evident as I keep publishing more of these.

Amy threw herself down into the chair at the kitchen table in a huff. Her Aunt was searching in the freezer for something to make for dinner and looked over at her niece curiously.

“And what are you all huffy about missy?”

“Nothing.” Amy kept her arms tightly folded and blew out a puff of air, kicking at her backpack until it collided with the kitchen table’s leg, making it wobble.

“Don’t destroy my house,” Aunt Sharon said, looking back into the freezer.

Amy rolled her eyes.

A few minutes passed and Aunt Sharon begrudgingly chose to pop a small frozen dinner into the oven. When her head came out of the freezer she saw Amy still sitting there, in her skirt and leg-tight leotard, converse shoes buried into the linoleum floor, a sour expression still etched on her face.

“Are you just gonna sit there like that all night?” she asked. “And I thought I told you that you couldn’t wear that little skirt to school. You’re much too young to run around like that.”

“It’s just a skirt Aunt Sharon! It’s not like I don’t have anything on underneath it, and I’m thirteen anyway! I just thought it looked nice and wanted to wear it today.” She slumped further down in the seat, determined to stare straight ahead of her. She could see out the small window on the far wall into the garden and across to the gate leading out to the street. No one was going to come up and through that gate today though. Ring her doorbell, have her yell for them to just bloody come in, and then spend the afternoon and evening doing a lot of nothing that felt like adventures. Nope, _people_ had girlfriends now. 

Aunt Sharon shrugged and fiddled with the dials on the oven. She slid the dinner onto the rack and bumped the door shut with her hip. Turning back around she saw Amy’s back, her vibrant red hair spilling over the back of the chair and her shoulders hunched. Aunt Sharon put her hands on her hips. “Alright, that’s not attractive at all. Come on, young lady, what’s with you?”

“Nothing!” Amy threw her hands up in frustration. Well, at least they weren’t folded across her chest like a barricade any longer. She stewed in silence for a moment and just as Aunt Sharon turned back around to set the timer Amy spoke. “Rory’s being so stupid again.”

“Oh?”

Silence. Aunt Sharon clicked the timer to eight minutes.

“Yeah. He just acts like I don’t exist any more. He’s always hanging out with his stupid girlfriend.”

“Children these days. Having girlfriends at thirteen and the like.”

“ _I’d_ have a boyfriend if any of them were worth a thought.” The truth was more like no one, especially boys, wanted to get within ten feet of mad Amelia Pond. Except Rory, of course. That was going to change when she got older. She’d still be mad Amelia Pond, but boys would be scrambling to get near mad, hot, feisty _Amelia Pond_. Whether that was a change for the better or for worse… was up for debate.

“Well she’s his first _girlfriend_.” She said the word like if her tongue lingered on it too long it might catch fire. “It’s all stupid. He won’t hang out with me anymore and Sarah is a daft little -”

“Language,” Aunt Sharon warned.

“ _Something_ … anyway. She doesn’t like me talking to Rory either.”

Aunt Sharon allowed herself an amused little smile. “Well most girls wouldn’t like some other girl hanging close around the boy they fancy. Aren’t you the same way?”

“What are you talking about? I don’t _have_ a boy I fancy.” Amy turned around in the chair to face Aunt Sharon.

Her Aunt smiled and taped her niece on the nose, much to Amy’s annoyance. “Oh, really now? Then who’s all in a huff about some Sarah girl being around a certain boy?” And with that she left the room.

Amy sat, staring into the empty space where her Aunt had been, seeing the green lights of the oven timer tick away in small numbers, until she twitched her nose and whipped around to yell to the retreating footsteps of her Aunt up the stairs. “Are you saying I fancy Rory? _Rory Williams_? That’s absolutely mad! I’d never like _Rory_!”

Amy listened as the sounds of her Aunt upstairs faded and then centered herself back to her starting position, arms crossed, slouched in the seat, a scowl on her face. Behind her the timer went off with a loud buzz.

“He’s just an idiot with his stupid girlfriend is all.”  


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annnnnd I think this is the second Amy/Rory ficlet I ever wrote.

Rory Williams was an ordinary bloke.

This was precisely why Amy Pond could not, under any circumstances, across any timeline, in any universe, fancy Rory Williams. Amy Pond did not settle for ordinary people, much less ordinary blokes. Or better yet, she didn’t want anyone. Amy Pond did not _need_ a boy. Not at all. Amy Pond relied on no one. There was no one to rely on. They all turned out less than extraordinary in the end, no matter what they promised, and she did _not_ need anyone to feel elated and dizzy and silly and like the universe was at her fingertips. 

Which begged the question why she was feeling that way around _Rory_ of all people. He made her self-conscious, and more rash they she’d normally be, and most damning of all he made her happy. It was the most infuriating thing she’d ever been through.

She actually cared how her hair looked before she rushed out the door to meet him to walk to school. She wanted to keep that look in his eyes like she fascinated him. She actually cared what he thought of her ideas, or if he thought her mad, or if he thought her brilliant, or whatever. She actually cared when she was grounded and couldn’t see him, or when his family went away on holiday. Maybe it was just because he was a friend. Her only friend really. Her best friend regardless of how many friends she may or may not have. 

_“It’s like your world exists within a bubble and it’s only you and Rory and your imaginary friend.”_

That's what Aunt Sharon had said to her some years ago when she was particularly cross about Amelia’s general disregard for her authority. Amelia had then retorted that they were the only people _worth_ existing in her world anyway. And the Doctor wasn’t imaginary.

But four years later now Amy tried not to think about the Doctor too much. Thinking about him meant having to admit either he didn’t really exist or she was just extraordinarily mad. Neither sat well with Amy, so she just ignored him the best she could.

It was just her and Rory now. The rest of Ledworth might have well just been a backdrop for her and her best friend, running around half inside their heads even, if they’d outgrown imaginary games of running from monsters and aliens. And they still talked about the stars all the time. 

Honestly, it didn’t matter the background, Amy thought. They could be anywhere in all of space and time and it would be the right place if they were together.

But that _didn’t_ mean she _fancied_ him.

He was just more than an ordinary friend.


	6. Chapter 6

“Rory!” Amy dragged him by the arm and pulled him into the janitor closet.

“Uh…Amy -”

“Hush!”

Amy peeked out the door and then shut it behind them. She flicked on the light switch and stared at him intently. Rory felt like he might be nauseous. “Amy, can I, uh, unhush now?”

“If I tell you something will you _swear_ not to tell anyone else, _ever_?”

Rory didn’t even have to think before he nodded. “Yeah, of course.”

“Okay.” Amy pulled him closer and shoved him down on the metal bin beside them. Rory wondered what kind of secret it was. A crazy one about some prank she had planned or maybe some dirt she had on one of the mean kids at school, or some cool something or other she had found, maybe a place like the creek behind Mr. Dunberries house, that she wanted to be their new secret base/hideout/safe zone in hide and seek. But then Rory thought he heard a sound like crying.

“Amy?”

She wasn’t quite crying, but her lip was quivering a little and she was sniffling and in the dim light he just caught that familiar squinting of her eyes as if tears wanted to come but she was fighting them back. She didn’t seem as successful as he’d seen her in the past, as she wiped at her eyes with her sleeve and didn’t look back up at him. Her voice cracked a little as she asked, “Do you think I’m mad?”

The question startled Rory.

“Do you?” she asked again, her voice harder but still tinged with the quavering of tears stuck in her throat. 

Rory placed a hand on her shoulder. “No.”

Amy laughed, watery and bitter. “Cause everyone else thinks there is something wrong with me. That I’m a freak.” She sniffled and looked up at him, her face raw with unshed tears. “Aunt Sharon wants to fix me.”

“You’re not broken,” Rory said, as if it were the most natural fact in the world.

Amy looked at him and tried to smile, but it faltered under the pressure of a fresh wave of emotion. She took a deep breath and sat herself beside Rory, sitting on top of her hands. “Aunt Sharon is making me go to a psychologist. Like some kind of nutter.”

Rory ventured to be brave. “Is … is it cause of your parents? Cause that’s not really _mad_ , that’s just -”

“No,” Amy cut him off. “They’ve been dead for years, she never sent me anywhere. This is cause she thinks I’m crazy." 

Rory tried to find the right thing to say but before he could Amy pressed forward. “She thinks I have some sort of mental problem. Like I’m not normal or something cause I talk about the Doctor all the time.” She was starting to sound more angry than sad, which gave Rory a little hope. “Just cause, _‘You’re not a kid anymore Amelia, you can’t be talking about your imaginary friend all the time. He’s not real.’_ Well maybe, why can’t I talk about him? It makes me crazy or something? Maybe I don’t believe,” her voice tripped and her throat felt soar where she should’ve cried, “in him.” She stared down at her converse shoes. “But whatever. She says I’m obsessed. Ugh, that’s such a stupid word. Whatever. I’m not mad.”

Rory sighed, and he could really think of nothing to do as they sat under the dim swinging light of the storage closet, surrounded by mops and buckets and squashed cardboard boxes. So he patted her back awkwardly.

Amy laughed at him. Next thing he knew they were wriggling for space on the upturned bin they sat on, her pushing him playfully and him kicking her leg lightly. They bumped shoulders and giggled. Amy wiped at her eyes again, even though she’d never properly cried, and Rory stood, offering his hand to help her up. She stood on her own. He looked at her carefully, tilting his head and examining her bright eyes and flushed face, until she smiled at him, a small smile, and started for the door.

“Hey Amy?” Rory said, as she put her hand on the knob.

She looked back at him.

“I know you’re not mad. And you can talk about the Doctor as much as you want around me.” He grinned sheepishly at her. “I think it’s brilliant.”

Amy grinned back, a flash against her reddened cheeks and wild hair that lightened his heart and made the room seem brighter. "You're pretty brilliant too," she said, before declaring she was going to race him back to class and darting out the door.


End file.
